Fooling You
by Hellie Ace
Summary: Sequel of American Trains. Alfred F. Jones could say he was a happy man: a steady job, a beautiful home, a heroic past and a murderously twisted British lover named Arthur Kirkland. He will always love Arthur, no matter the horrors he commits, even if it means abandoning every ideal he ever stood by. For Alfred, there is nothing more blind than love. 1870s AU. USUK.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Hi everybody! Wow, this is pretty awesome being able to jump back into these two rather odd characters. :) I won't bore you much, since this is just a prologue and all, but seriously, I hope you guys like it and I'll get this A/N over with as quick as I can. I will address all the wonderful, absolutely beautiful comments I received about AT's final chapter briefly in the actual first chapter so you're free to enjoy this tooth-achingly sweet prologue... promise, the dark comes quickly. :3**

**Thanks to my beta, Kay! You're awesome, gurl!**

**And for those of you that somehow stumbled upon this without reading American Trains... go read it: :/www. fanfiction s/7203671/1/American_Trains**

**Onward!**

* * *

Golden beams of morning light filtered through the thin, pale curtains of the broad bedroom window. It illuminated the small space, leaving gleaming dashes of light across the white sheets tangled around the two warm bodies in the bed on the other side of the room. The watery light was just barely enough to stir one of the bodies from blissful sleep.

Ever the early riser, Alfred opened his eyes to greet the sunny day as the beams touched his face. His cerulean eyes were unfocused for a few moments, slowly blinking sleep away. Exhaling softly, he smiled when the body beside him stirred as his warm breath ghosted over his lover's face.

Arthur didn't bother opening his eyes, but inched closer to Alfred, nuzzling against his chest.

"It's too early…" The Brit mumbled hoarsely. He grumbled some form of unintelligible insult when Alfred laughed and shifted. It disrupted Arthur's perfectly comfortable nest of blankets, pillows and tanned body he was so thoroughly enjoying cuddling with. He growled, burying his face into a pillow and blinding grabbing for his American paramour. He tugged Alfred back down to the bed, meeting almost no resistance. "Stay," Arthur ordered, voice muffled by the pillow. He heard Alfred laugh again, but felt the American's familiar weight pressing against the mattress once more. The warmth of the taller's body returned, soothing the irritable Brit and making him sigh.

They stayed like that, warm and quiet until the Brit turned his head, finally opening his eyes to the morning light filtering in, and he certainly wasn't disappointed. A soft, adoring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed into Alfred's clear, blue eyes. The American was lying on his side, his face only a few inches from Arthur's. An affectionate, doting smile adorned his lips while he watched Arthur's groggy eyes slowly clear and focus on him. Arthur noted the breath-taking way the golden light splashed across Alfred's fallow-gold hair, alighting it with an angelic glow. It left his strong, handsome face cast in a lovely shimmer and intensified the luminosity of his beautiful, blue eyes.

Happily content with that image, Arthur was a bit irked when the American leaned over him, chest flush against his side, and merely grabbed his glasses. Perching them on his nose, Alfred settled back down, this time farther from Arthur than before. Arthur voiced his annoyance with a faint growl. Smirking, Alfred inched closer; he made sure that the emerald-eyed man could snuggle up against his chest again. Arthur felt his heart flutter as Alfred leaned even closer, and kissed his cheek before whispering:

"Well, g'mornin', Artie," the ex-cowboy murmured sweetly against his ear in his deep, drawling, tenor tone. "Ya sleep okay? I know last night probably tuckered ya out." Even though it had been nearly three years since leaving the West, Alfred still had that distinctly charming accent that Arthur secretly loved. Naturally, he would never admit that to Alfred, lest the cowboy take it as an excuse to talk anymore than he did. Besides, there was only so much temptation Arthur could hold back with those lovingly drawled words breathed into his ear after last night's long, satisfying session. Forced to stifle a pleased groan, Arthur merely grunted, eyelids at half-mast.

Alfred kissed his cheek again before laying his head back on the pillow. Their noses brushed they were so close, and Alfred took the opportunity to simply enjoy the lovely view. Arthur's bright, emerald eyes were always so fascinating. Just the way the slight variations in the green tint would seem to shift from day to day, and the incredible vividness of the burning viridian had become the ex-cowboy's favorite thing to look at. Of course, the pale, scarred skin, slender jaw line and small, straight nose framing those emerald orbs was just as lovely. Even the thick, furry eyebrows were well loved in Alfred's big heart.

Alfred tangled a hand into the golden crown of Arthur's hair, gently stroking his scalp and playing with each strand. They cascaded across his fingers, tickling his heavy, calloused hands. Arthur gave an appreciative hum, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sensation of Alfred's gentle hand in his hair. It was impossible to describe the wonderful feeling that warmed Arthur's whole body and left him feeling weak-kneed when Alfred touched him like this. He guessed it would be hard for anyone to imagine just how gentle and loving those heavy, calloused hands could be on his body. It still amazed him how the hands that could fire a rifle with perfect aim, control a half-ton horse, and break a man's nose with one swing could still leave feather-light caresses on his thin figure and affectionately paw at his hair.

Arthur exhaled softly when the blue-eyed blond let his hand wander down, moving from the golden locks to his lover's pale jaw. His thumb rolled over the smooth expanse of skin, earning a tiny smile from the Brit. Alfred moved a bit lower, ghosting the pads of his fingers across Arthur's scarred neck. He traced a pair of silvery-white scars that slashed over his jugular. They had been made by an angry dog when Arthur was still living in France. But the thin marks were nothing compared to grisly maze of old, mangled wounds that littered the expanse of Arthur's back, chest and arms though. Alfred let his hand go there, palming the round jut of the Brit's narrow shoulder for a moment before finding one. The tips of his fingers found the first of many wounds with ease as they splayed out. He traced the pale scar all the way down Arthur's shoulder blade when it converged with another scar. This one was a more fleshy color, and wrapped its way around the curve of his rib cage.

He brushed the blanket that hid the rest of the wound aside, exposing his lover's lithe, naked legs. The Brit shivered at the sudden loss, but kept his eyes shut, and waited for Alfred's warm hand to return.

The younger swallowed hard, and let his hand glide back to an unblemished patch of skin on Arthur's thin flank. He tried not to let his gaze stray to Arthur's lower half, but found his fingers dancing along Arthur's thigh anyway. The sleek muscle beneath rippled under his touch as Arthur stretched out. He cracked his eyes open just a bit to catch the red blush starting to creep up onto Alfred's tanned cheeks. They had been back together for nearly a year, yet Alfred still managed to blush around his naked body. The emerald-eyed man found it both amusing and endearing. Alfred was naturally shy with this sort of intimacy, but slowly he was growing bolder and bolder around Arthur. He no longer objected to sleeping naked, and had recently started doing these affectionate morning explorations. It was an impressive leap forward, as Arthur could very clearly remember their first kiss three years ago: Alfred having something akin to a small panic attack and slamming Arthur into a wall had broken it off after only a moment or so.

The emerald-eyed man smiled fondly, recalling their earliest attempts at a budding romance back on the dusty Kansan plains. His smile caught Alfred's attention, and the blue-eyed man brought his hand from Arthur's thigh back to his cheek, cupping it. The Brit refocused his faraway gaze to the taller blond lying beside him.

"I reckon ya the most beautiful thing I ever seen, Mr. Kirkland," Alfred whispered, his face still aflame with a burning blush. Arthur's heart swelled with a lovely happiness as he leaned forward to place a feverish kiss to Alfred's lips. It was unavoidable, as those sweet words drove Arthur wild and reconfirmed just why he loved the younger so much. There was no one else who could make him feel this loved, admired, or special.

He ravished the American's lips with his own, and knotted his fingers in Alfred's hair. The chapped lips were sensually responsive, taking over control and pressing back against the Brit's.

The American had to compose himself, and dejectedly denied Arthur's tongue entrance when the wet muscle lapped at his lips. Arthur loosed an annoyed growl, pulling back and cocking a heavy brow at his lover.

Alfred tried to compensate by leaving a feather-light kiss on the tip of Arthur's nose and offering a dazzling smile.

"Sorry, Artie. I dun' think ya in much a' any shape to be goin' any farther than this. I figured ya'd be awful sore, y'know?"

"Nonsense! I'm perfectly fine-" Arthur shifted up on his hip, attempting to get closer to his lover's warm, firm body. He suddenly gasped, letting out a hiss of pain through gritted teeth. A sharp pain shot down his spine, leaving a pulsing ache in his tailbone. He flopped back to the mattress with a pained smile.

"Damn you… bloody brute," Arthur muttered as Alfred tried to comfort him with another kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry." Alfred avoided the Brit's eyes, his whole face red.

"Don't be," The emerald-eyed man assured. He certainly wasn't sorry about their lovemaking. Alfred was big and broad in nearly all aspects of his anatomy, which Arthur certainly enjoyed, even if the sore mornings left him aching for a while. The sharp ache was always worth the intimate experience with the shy and gentle American. "You know I love every moment. It's always worth the morning after."

Alfred couldn't control the maddening blush that engulfed his entire face and neck. Unable to look his lover in the eye, Alfred settled for nervously knotting his fingers in the sheets. As much as he enjoyed the praise for his performance, it was still terribly embarrassing.

"Well, if we're not going to revisit last night's grounds, then I suggest you start getting ready for work. Mr. Trolley isn't going to be happy if you're late."

Alfred bobbed his head in a nod, glad for the change of subject. He shifted to brace on his hands and knees. Easily untangling Arthur's feet from the blankets, he suddenly scooped him up in his arms. The Brit gave a surprised gasp at the rapid motion, expecting an acute pain in his tailbone again, but found none. It must have shown on his face because Alfred grinned down at him with a reassuring smile.

"Hey now, gimme some credit, Artie! I wouldn't hurt ya. Well," Alfred tried to calm the raging heat in his face as he thought back to last night. "Not intentionally, at least."

Arthur rolled his eyes, pushing on Alfred's chest.

"Yes, yes, I know. Now put me down, brute!" He ordered squirming in Alfred's strong arms. The American complied, setting the naked Brit down gingerly on his feet. He kept his arm around the shorter's narrow shoulders as he winced. But Arthur shooed him away with a wave of his hands.

"Go on! I'm just fine, so go dress yourself."

"If ya say so," The blue-eyed American mumbled, moving towards the tiny closet they shared. "Shout if ya need me!" He called as Arthur carefully trod into the living room where he had discarded his drawers and trousers last night. He slipped them back on, and then headed for the narrow kitchen to start preparing breakfast.

When Alfred remerged from their bedroom, dressed in his usual attire consisting of his tight, rough denims, a long sleeved, collared, cotton shirt, his leather vest, gloves and boots, breakfast was waiting on the table. Arthur was just finishing wiping off his hands on a raggedy towel when he felt Alfred's heavy hand on his shoulder. He glanced back with a tiny smile. Alfred always looked so incredibly dashing no matter what he was dressed in, Arthur decided. Naked or looking like a poor stableman, he was still perfect in Arthur's eyes.

Alfred squeezed his shoulder lightly, guiding him to sit beside him at the wooden table where breakfast was waiting. There were two cups of coffee, and a single plate heaped with jet-black toast and brown, shriveled eggs. Alfred didn't seem to mind the terribly burnt taste and he bit into the toast. Most of it crumbled like soot in his mouth, but he swallowed it anyway. He broke off a piece and handed it to Arthur, who nibbled at it thoughtfully after putting his head down on his folded arms. The Brit was still tired, and rarely had an appetite this early in the day. He didn't necessarily have to rise this early, but did so to make breakfast for his lover each morning and see him off to work before crawling back into bed. Arthur couldn't hold a job in such a small town with his condition, and so he usually stayed at home, managing their finances and tending to the house. He rose with Alfred, sent him off, crawled back into bed for a few extra hours of sleep, and then rose in the afternoon to tend to their daily living space.

Alfred smiled down at the sleepy Brit as he tried to ignore the awful taste of the food he ate. Arthur's cooking was probably the most horrendous and vile stuff, but he ate it anyway. The emerald-eyed man didn't seem to realize that toast wasn't supposed to be black, or that eggs were supposed retain their white and yellow color, not turn muddy brown. Or that coffee beans should not be left in the coffee after it was finished brewing, he thought after taking a large gulp of the hot liquid. But he ate it because Arthur made it, which somehow made his happy heart swell with a strange joy every morning when he sat down for breakfast. Arthur had a very strange way of showing his affection, and it seemed as if his awful cooking was one of those ways. Alfred not only tolerated the awful food, he loved Arthur even more for it.

He finished off another two pieces of toast and some crunchy eggs before he pushed the last piece of toast to Arthur. The Brit waved it away, preferring to sip a bit of his lukewarm coffee instead. Alfred shrugged, popped the last piece into his mouth, and rose from his seat.

"Leaving?"

"Sure am. I'll see ya later, 'right, Artie?"

Arthur nodded slowly. Tilting his head up so Alfred could grace his lips with a chaste good-bye kiss, he silently bid goodbye to his lover. Alfred ruffled Arthur's messy hair before walking to the door. He gave a little wave, and then exited with a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Arthur watched the closed door for a few moments before yawning. He picked up the plate and the half-empty mugs of coffee and set them down in the sink. He would wash them later, for now though, he intended to get properly dressed.

Walking back to their bedroom, he slipped out of his old, temporary clothes and dressed in his favorite dark green suit. Pulling on his undergarments and trousers proved to be painful on his sore lower half, but he managed through the sharp pain even as he bent to put on his shoes.

"Ow…" The emerald-eyed Brit muttered as he pushed himself off of the bed and headed for the door. He fixed his stance, looking like the proper thoroughbred Alfred always liked to say he was, and walked out of the house.

His emerald eyes quickly adjusted to the bright morning light and scanned the road. He could faintly make out the fleeting outline of Alfred's form at the very end of the cobblestone path. Taking the steps down the porch carefully, Arthur silently padded along the grassy border of the road. His heels made no sound against the soft, springy grass as he secretly followed his lover down the familiar roads to the other side of Oil City. They lived the in the poor district, in a bright yellow house, separated from the wealthy oil barons on the opposite end by an impressive bridge spanning the Allegheny.

When Alfred crossed said bridge, Arthur paused, waiting for the American to be well out of earshot of his clicking heels when he crossed the wooden surface. The journey was short after that; Alfred turned down the first street afterwards and followed it all the way to the crest of a small hill where his employer lived. He paused suddenly, glancing up at the sky as a sudden breeze drifted across the hill. Off in the distance, dark thunderclouds blanketed the sky near the mountains rising in the distance. Subconsciously, he rubbed at his right shoulder, feeling the weakened muscle begin to quiver and ache.

Alfred hated the rain; it made his old gunshot wound sore, made his body feel heavy and left a tugging ache in his bones. Thankfully, it looked far off, but the ex-cowboy knew how quickly the weather could shift. He refocused his attention back to the hill. He could worry about the rain later.

A tall manor stood proudly at the top, looming over the expansive acres surrounding it. Its gleaming white sides caught the light perfectly, leaving it aglow in the wake of the rising sun.

Standing under the awning of the wrap-around veranda stood a fat, well dressed, and very annoyed looking man. His dark hair was greased back, and his squinty piggish eyes were focused on Alfred as the tall cowboy approached.

"G'mornin' Mr. Trolley, sir!" He greeted with his usual, friendly cheer.

The man snorted.

"Hardly, Jones. Where have you been? Didn't I tell you yesterday that I needed you to be here early this morning? Or are you deaf as well as an idiot now?"

Alfred bit his bottom lip, looking ashamed. It quickly came back to him now that the man brought it up. Mr. Trolley had indeed asked for Alfred to be at the manor well before sunrise to groom his two best stallions for an early morning sale.

"Sorry 'bout that, sir. It must a' slipped my mind."

"I'm sure that happens often, Jones," The pudgy man groaned, dabbing a silk handkerchief across his already sweating brow. "I suppose it can't be helped. Just get to work and don't let me catch you shirking! I won't tolerate this idiocy and insolence on your part ever again, am I clear? Oh, and make sure you act respectably when the buyer arrives. I won't have you shaming my good name!"

"Yes, sir." The ex-cowboy muttered dejectedly, bowing his head. He turned away when he heard the door to the manor slam shut and started down the hill. He glanced up for a moment, catching a glimpse of something moving at the base of the hill. He squinted, but quickly dismissed it as merely a shadow. There wasn't time for nonsense: his boss was angry, and if he wanted to keep his job he had better get down to the stables as quickly as possible.

* * *

_**~ FY~**_

* * *

Arthur slammed the door shut behind him with a vicious growl spilling from his throat. His blazing emerald eyes smoldered with anger as he stomped into the bedroom, and kicked off his shoes.

He couldn't believe this! This was the third day in a row that that arrogant pig of a man, Trolley, had dared to insult and mock his lover! The oil baron made Arthur sick every time he watched those piggish eyes leer at Alfred and that flapping mouth of his spew such cruel things to the shy ex-cowboy. The man was very loud, had a deep rumble to his voice, and so Arthur heard everything, even from his hiding spot at the base of the hill. He heard it all the time, but it was becoming more and more intolerable.

Flopping onto the bed, Arthur felt his tailbone ache again, and a burning fury begin to burgeon in his gut. It didn't work to soothe his bad temper.

This happened far too frequently, Arthur decided. Trolley was a cruel man who treated Alfred like a dog. Even if Alfred loved caring for the magnificent horses the man kept, he still came home all too often with a sad smile. One that always said: 'I'm tried of being treated this way, but I won't burden you by telling you my troubles.'

It made Arthur's heart ache, and sometimes he could coax Alfred into admitting he hated the constant insults, remarks and threats. But the younger was always quick to add that it was fine, because they needed the money and Alfred loved the horses too much to let it affect him too severely. It never reassured Arthur, though. The big American didn't deserve that kind of treatment. He was too kind, and shy, and sweet and perfect to ever be spoken to like that.

_So fix the problem…._

The dark, familiar voice in his mind whispered. Arthur shook his head, glaring down at his hands.

_Fine. Then my cowboy is going to continue to suffer…_

_He's not suffering_. Arthur resigned. _He says it doesn't bother him_.

_And you ever so foolishly believe him? You're a sodding idiot then… you don't deserve him…_

Arthur bit his lip, pawing nervously as the sheets. Maybe Alfred _was _suffering? He suddenly narrowed his eyes, resolve steeling his heart. If Alfred was hurting, then he would destroy the source of his American paramour's pain. The big ex-cowboy had suffered too much in his life as it was. This was supposed to be the happiest time of his life: well-aged at twenty-nine years old, living comfortably in his hometown and inseparable from the love of his life.

Outside, the rumble of distant thunder rolled through the sky as the storm clouds drew closer to the city.

The emerald-eyed man licked his lips thoughtfully, before leaning over the bed to open the nightstand drawer. He slipped his hand inside, pulling out the familiar, dangerous penknife he had had since he was young. He uncapped the top, staring at his reflection in the golden blade. His feral, viridian eyes glared back it him on the sheen of the sharpened metal.

"I'll fix the problem…"

* * *

**There really isn't history here yet. Only note Arthur's co-conscious of Dark!Art. I'm not sure how much it was brought up in AT... so, there's your reminder. :)**

**Anyone else as stupidly excited as I am about this? xD**

**Btw, here's my tumblr. Come follow me for more USUK stuff and other fandoms. :)**

**hellieace. tumblr. com**


	2. The Merchant of Death

**Chapter 1**

**Title: The Merchant of Death**

**Beta: Kay**

**A/N: Hello readers! So, today marks the 1 year anniversary of the publication of American Trains on FFN. Woo~! Hence, why I decided to post chapter 1 for the sequel tonight. Pardon that silly logic, I just think it's kind of cool. And as I said in the prologue, I will address all the beautiful comments y'all left me for the ending of AT also, for the prologue as per usual. Sorry if that sounds stupid, i just don't like leaving reviewers unanswered. ^^**

_**For AT -**_

**Sammicakes: Thank you so much, darling. The history lesson will continue on in the sequel as well!**

**Blackcat: Oh ho, hasn't quite ended, now has it, lovely?**

**TG: Well, promise to bring everything to a close in this and def. wrap everything up properly.**

**Renuki: Haha, I had to give them a happy semi-ending with what I put them through. It's only fair. ;)**

**Skadiyoko: D'awww, I read Turquoise as well, quite sad! But wooo for happy endings-ish.**

**aerrow4eva: I couldn't leave Hero and Cisco behind. :3 **

**Inkaugneato: Awww~! Happy endings get me kinda misty too. :P I try not to read stuff at work just for that fact. xD Don't thank me! Thank you for reading and reviewing. Hahaha**

**lightsnowfall: Ah, people, stop thanking me~! y'all are waaay too nice. It was an absolute joy to write and I'm glad someone else enjoyed it as well.**

**rat300: No, no! I love poetic lines like that! Haha, thank you so much, dear, and I'm really flattered with how high on your favorites list it is. ^^**

**Kay: How you managed to get in my head and made yourself a little home there is still beyond me *fistbump* You're so awesome, girly girl. I didn't manage to get that elusive tear I've been hunting for, but let's see if I can bottle one with the sequel. *evil grin***

**elle268: Doh, you people with your sensitive tear ducts. LOL. :)**

**wraightsky: Lack of research and misinformation is the bane of this fandom, I'm tellin' you. Aww, but who could resist a horse with a name like Hero? :3 Oh and you're absolutely right. These two are both very broken individuals, who probably would break down and drop from society without each other, however. They act as support pillars for one another. I couldn't let them crumble, and even if it is a a terrible relationship on the psychological level.**

**alguien22792: I aim to make you all sob. xD**

**18dustyrose: Haha, yes, bless his cold, murderous heart!**

**xXFree_Falling_AngelXx: Awww, thank you, lovely~! I hope it brings you many more enjoyable reads.**

**Finished it in a Day: Lol, I wish I had made them go through Lawrence, just for the Supernatural references I could make. xD**

**Bleedingsmirk: Lol, best crossover ever! **

**animefangirl55: Glad to be the exception to that. I know how you feel. Sometimes I lose the motivation to read sorties if a strong plot isn't present.**

**NixRegina: Thanks! ^^**

**buttercup and cornflower: Of course I appreciate the review, sweetheart! I love the fact that you could follow it just like I wrote it. You hearing the accents and seeing the Kansan plains is just perfect!**

**MCRgirl BMW: Daww~ Thanks**

**Sora Resi: Heheh, well, here it is! ;)**

**CrimsonButterflyTearDrops018: Awww, 'adorkable'~ That was cute! ^^**

_**For FY-**_

**Kay: Lol, Well, what if I do? ;)**

**blackcat: Oh, certainly! You'll get to see a few of my favorites come back and naturally, some new ones. ;)**

**CBTD018: Yeeeeeeees!**

**april sherbet: Haha, yup! Artie loves his cowboy. ;)**

**TG: OH HAI THUR YOURSELF, MISSY. AND YES I SEE THE EXCITE IN YOUR KEY-SMASH.**

**Demand Truth: Woah. o_0 Hello there fantastic writer turned reader! Oh, I can't promise you anything just yet, lovely. *pats head* yes, yes, Al is a dorable and deserves only happiness, but that doesn't make much of a plot, does it? :)**

**Sora Resi: Woo!**

**BlackWolf2Dragoon: ah, spelling, who needs it? Hehehe, oh, you gonna try to guess the plot too? :P**

**ncalkins: Oh, 2p! Artie is so boss! I love him!**

**Mokuren no Ken: Yay!**

**sammy-girl12: Oh no! Don't cry yet!**

**Urchin of the Riding Stars: Hey, I can get behind RusAme, but USUK will always be my OTP. *bows* Thank you, doll!**

**Wow! Sorry that was so long guys! On to the show then!**

* * *

A brisk, damp breeze glided over the old worn path Alfred trod upon on his way home from work. The coming night air was flooded with the scent of rain, and the rapid pressure drop was causing Alfred's shoulder to ache horribly. The ex-cowboy rubbed his stiff shoulder with his gloved hand, rolling his thumb against the indent left by his old gunshot wound from nearly three years ago. As his fingers worked to soothe the weakened muscle, his mind trailed back to the mishap that had given him the painful scar in the first place. Alfred could very clearly recall the murderous Kansan farmer and his rifle. He could remember the sound of the bolt sliding back and the explosive exit of the bullet, and the sudden, terrible pain that had ripped through his shoulder.

Alfred heaved a tired sigh, dropping his hand, and looking up at the dark, rolling clouds above him. It was hard to imagine that it had already been three years since his unexpected meeting with Arthur and the terrifying, yet strangely enjoyable flight from his past life. His unfocused, blue eyes were looking far away from the oncoming thunderstorm.

Meeting Arthur Kirkland had been an accident. But an accident the ex-cowboy didn't regret or want to change in the slightest. Alfred had never imagined encountering a small, strange Brit tangled up in barbwire in the middle of some dusty Kansas plain. But somehow it had happened, and Alfred was glad that fate had given him Arthur, even through such an odd encounter. He was even more grateful to Arthur himself, for easing the pain of his loneliness through his undying affections. While Arthur had a strange, terrifying way of showing how much he cared, it was endearing in its brightest of moments. But even those bright moments like when Arthur had first kissed him, or their time spent with Roderich, were overshadowed by the dark, murderous side of Alfred's lover.

The blue-eyed man shivered, whether from the chill breeze that swept through the air or the recollection of Arthur's apathetic murders, he wasn't sure. He had never fully come to grips or forgiven himself for letting Arthur murder three innocent people in their flight for freedom. He loved Arthur dearly, but he couldn't love the terrible things he did. There was also the case of Arthur killing Ivan, but that was an understandable act. Alfred didn't like the idea, but how could he blame his emerald-eyed lover for killing the man who had been hunting him for the better part of his adult life? He simply couldn't, but then again, Alfred wasn't sure if he could blame Arthur for any of the atrocities he had committed.

The debate had been raging inside him ever since he had first discovered Arthur's darker side. There were times when Arthur could be charming, docile and witty, but instantly switch to possessive, murderous and cruel in the blink of an eye. Alfred wasn't exactly sure where these changes came from, or why entirely, but eventually Arthur would return to his usual self. He was generally remorseful of his unexplainable switch, but had become so accustomed to these violent changes that he seemed to be slowly losing the will to regret his actions. Alfred wondered if it was a bad reaction cycle to fall into, but could never bring himself to be angry or afraid of Arthur. His half-hearted attempts to ever guilt the Brit simply led to forgiving him completely. Arthur already had plenty of insecurities, and Alfred didn't have the heart to show disapproval to the volatile blond. Besides, hadn't Arthur suffered enough? Alfred genuinely believed so.

The first fat drop of rain splashed on Alfred's glasses, startling him from his thoughts. Alfred looked around, unsure of how long ago he had stopped and stood in the middle of the road. Thankfully, there didn't appear to be anyone around to notice his strange behavior. The ex-cowboy bowed his head as the rain began to fall in earnest, and started walking again.

The usual heavy clicking of his boots became muffled as the ground greedily soaked up the cascading rain. As the droplets drummed monotonously against the ground, Alfred found his thoughts creeping up on him again. The first notion that came to the forefront was the baffling concept of time.

_Three years. Three whole years since I met Artie..._

Alfred shook his head slowly, scattering droplets of water that had collected in his now soaking fallow locks. The past year had gone by so quickly ever since the emerald-eyed Brit had returned to him on that lonely night under the full moon. The miserable two years left thinking that Arthur was dead prior to had seemed like an eternity though. He didn't much like recalling those dark days when it was all he could do to keep his head up and not sink to his knees from the pain in his heart. It had been the most awful feeling. Alfred had lost track of how many times he had awoken to tears in his eyes and no warm body beside him as he had dreamed of. He spent two long, anguishing years like that, and was prepared to accept it the rest of his life until by sheer will, Arthur had found him. The cowboy felt a warm smile spread across his lips. There was no way to describe the amazing feelings he had felt when Arthur had come back to him, crawled into his lap, kissed him like he never had before and told Alfred that he loved him. It had left his wounded heart bursting with sheer joy and excitement. There had never been a happier time in all of his life.

As he moved to start jogging, hoping to get home faster, his shoulder muscle gave a spasm from the pain of being jolted. Alfred cringed, his steps faltering for a moment. He wished his boss, a local oil baron, hadn't sent him home early due to his shoulder giving out. He'd accidentally lost control of one of the big stallions the baron kept at his stables when the animal had jerked the lead rope from his hand. Normally he would have been able to keep a hold on the animal with his impressive strength, but the rough tug had invoked his old wound to act up and Alfred had lost his grip. The baron hadn't been pleased, and had sent Alfred home with a few scathing remarks after the stableman had recovered the nervous stallion. But it wasn't something new. The baron knew full well about Alfred's bad shoulder and had sent him home on numerous occasions, always with biting words, but had yet to fire Alfred; it was probably due to the fact that when his shoulder wasn't acting up, Alfred made the perfect groom. There wasn't a horse he couldn't soothe, perfectly break in, or get to behave properly on any occasion. He had a special way with the big equestrians, stemming from his love and ownership of horses since childhood. And even after the baron had supposedly sent him home, Alfred had stayed, unbeknownst to his boss, to make sure the rest of the horses were properly groomed and bedded for the night.

A searing bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and a crashing boom of thunder followed just behind it, startling Alfred from his thoughts.

Alfred rubbed at his eyes as the water began to trickle into them. The rain blasted from the clouds, leaving waves of raining sheets to drench everything. The blue-eyed blond didn't have time to think anymore as he started to sprint down the soggy road. He could think at home, out of the rain and in the comfort of some hot food and Arthur's company.

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***~.:FY:.~***

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Arthur didn't bother to look up as the rain began to dribble from the ominous thunderclouds overhead. His piercing emerald eyes were focused solely on the small collection of oil workers and their sharply dressed employer standing in the middle of the field. The patch of open land was surrounded by thick birch trees, one of which Arthur was currently leaning his back against. He still didn't move when the rain began to batter the trees in harsh, blasting sheets.

His tailored brown suit quickly became drenched with the rain as it bounced from the birches' branches onto the leaf-carpeted forest floor and the lone Brit. The ground quickly turned slippery, and Arthur chuckled quietly as he watched the oil baron nearly fall flat on his face as he turned to hurry home.

Arthur shifted his hand into his pocket, and found the familiar smooth grip of his penknife hidden in the folds. He pulled it out, uncapped it and let his gloved fingers run over the incredibly sharp edge of the blade. The Brit smirked as he noted the slight tearing noise of the delicate glove fingertips being sliced open by the newly sharpened knife. It would cut so nicely into even more delicate skin.

The Brit shifted from his place against the birch tree and rolled his stiff shoulders. He had been waiting nearly an hour for the baron to finally separate himself from his workers.

From the little overheard conversation Arthur's keen hearing had picked up, it seemed as though they were looking for another oil-rich spot to drill for their company's newest well. The Brit likely would have had to wait even longer if the skies hadn't opened up to pour chilling sheets of rain onto the small Pennsylvania town. But it had, and for that, Arthur was grateful.

He was itching to get a hold of the oil baron and give him the pain that was coming to him. Arthur was sick and tired of the man belittling his lover for an old injury he had no control over. For a year now, Arthur had been watching his beloved ex-cowboy coming home from work despondent from the cruel man's insults. Alfred did the best he could with his old wounds, and he was damned good at his stable job. Arthur could attest to Alfred's excellent horsemanship and loving nature. This awful oil baron had no right to verbally abuse Arthur's lover for the normally wonderful job he did.

Loathing green eyes watched from the shadow of the trees as the baron approached his horse-drawn carriage. The coach's large black body was slick from the rain, and the driver looked absolutely miserable as he held the door open for his master. The pudgy baron huffed as he climbed into the carriage after briskly thanking the driver. The man grunted after the door shut, and tipped his hat, letting the collected water pour out of the rim before climbing back up to his seat.

Arthur moved to the very edge of the road, still hidden in the rain and darkness. At the crack of the whip, and the sound of hooves stomping the muddy road, Arthur stepped into the lane. The pair of black mares pulling the carriage snorted and threw back their heads. They splattered mud on Arthur's shoes and trouser legs as they drew to a halt just before the murderous Brit. Arthur quickly knelt, loosing a fake cry of pain as if the towering horses had struck him.

The driver swore before calling,

"Sir, are you hurt?"

When he didn't respond, the driver clambered down from his seat and rushed to where his horses stood.

"Sir, a-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as Arthur grabbed the man's ankle and yanked him to the ground. The man went down with thick, sloshing thud, sending up a wave of sticky mud.

The horses shrieked as the Brit lunged forward, winding the fallen coach driver as he landed on top of him. The man opened his mouth to scream, but the only sound that escaped was a thick gurgling noise as Arthur slit his throat. The blood pooled up into his mouth, and spilt over in a foaming froth as the man writhed weakly before quickly going still beneath the emerald-eyed man.

Arthur smirked, and slid off of the corpse before rising to full height. The horses eyed him warily and snorted, leaving puffs of their hot breath in the air for the rain to disperse. Arthur patted the left one's velvety nose affectionately. The Brit had never been keen to the big domestic animals until meeting the ex-cowboy, but now found them quite charming beasts. Alfred was certainly wearing off on him.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, my lovelies, but if you could meet the man I am protecting, then you would understand." He explained softly, making sure the right horse was given some attention as well. He continued petting the horses until the coach door opened and the fat oil baron peeked his fleshy face out of the carriage's belly.

"Mr. Jameson, why have we been stopped so long? What is going on?" The man called into the darkness.

Arthur couldn't help but smile broadly as he kept himself hidden between the tall bodies of the horses. The left horse snorted as Arthur unconsciously gripped the mare's bridle mount, shaking with giddy anticipation.

"Mr. Jameson?"

The baron frowned when he didn't receive and answer, and stepped out of the carriage. He adjusted his small, stiff hat to keep the rain out of his eyes and lumbered through the thick mud with a look of disgust on his face.

"Mr. Jameson, just what are you doing laying on the ground like that?" The pudgy man growled out as he peered at the shadowy outline of his driver's body lying in the mud. He squinted as he came closer, trying to deduce why his driver wasn't responding. He stepped up to the corpse and gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth in horror. The perfectly clean cut across Mr. Jameson's throat left a grinning red wound that split his throat from ear to ear.

"Good evening, Mr. Trolley." Arthur said politely as he stepped out from between the twin black horses. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, hiding the golden penknife from sight.

"Mr. Kirkland? Is that you?" The oil baron inquired in a trembling voice. "Mr. Kirkland, what happened? What happened to Mr. Jameson?"

Arthur looked down at the corpse between them. His brilliant emerald eyes flickered with amusement as he looked back up after a moment.

"It appears as if he's had a little accident, does it not, sir?" Arthur responded smoothly, flashing the penknife into view. The rain had washed away most of the blood, save for the trail of muddled pinkish water that ran off its slick edge. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick and painful."

The baron began to quake in overwhelming fear as Arthur encroached upon him, eyes aglow with murderous intent like a hungry predator. As the Brit stepped over the driver's chilled corpse, the pudgy man opened his mouth to plead.

"Please, Mr. Kirkland, don't do this! Stop! Stop coming closer!" He shrieked, voice breaking in terror. He started to back away, but his shoe sunk into the mud, leaving him trapped.

Arthur chuckled darkly as he came up to the man with a wicked grin on his lips.

"Please…" The man whimpered, trying desperately to free himself with wild, jerking movements. Arthur grabbed the man's collar, pulling him to his slender, drenched body.

"Stop squirming, you ugly little worm!" The Brit growled maliciously, his heart positively soaring in awful delight as the fat oil baron obeyed out of sheer terror.

"Please, I'll give you anything! Money, land, servants, anything! Just please let me go."

Arthur cocked a brow, loosening his grip as if he might actually be giving the offer some consideration. The baron quickly tried to seize on his chance and continued.

"Anything, Mr. Kirkland! Whatever you want, I swear it will be yours!"

"Anything, you say, Mr. Trolley?"

"Yes anything! Now let me go! I beg of you!"

Arthur smiled, and released the man's tight jowl collar. He stumbled back on his bulging legs and smiled. It was short lived as Arthur stepped forward and rammed the penknife into the underside of the oil baron's jaw. The man sputtered, blood pouring out from his mouth, dribbling from between his teeth. Arthur savagely wrenched the blade down, opening up a massive rift down the entire length of Mr. Trolley's throat. He yanked the blade free as he felt it strike the man's collar. A spray of blood erupted, painting Arthur's face and neck in red, and the Brit stepped back to let the body drop.

The emerald-eyed man raised his free hand to wipe the burning-hot, crimson liquid from his eyes. The rain was already beginning to wash away the rest and leave pink streams running down Arthur's soaked body. He stepped back from the corpse already sinking into the mud, and walked to the horses. They whinnied in fright, but Arthur reassured them with a few gentle pats. He easily undid the simple leather harnesses and buckles attaching them to the carriage in a few minutes. Once they were both undone, he slapped the left mare's thigh, sending her off into a gallop. The other mare quickly followed after and both vanished into the stormy night.

Once they had gone, Arthur glanced back at his victims one last time before he stowed the penknife back in his pocket.

"Thank you for the generous offer Mr. Trolley, but I'm a afraid the only thing I wanted was to kill you." The emerald-eyed Brit snickered before heading off to the river to properly wash the blood from his hair and clothes.

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**And that's the Arthur I have missed writing soooo~ very much, my lovelies!**

**Aww, thoughts, comments, concerns? Leave them in that very nice little review box below, if you please. ;)**


	3. The Devil You Know

**Fooling You**

**Chapter 2: The Devil You Know**

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**It's been forever, sorry for the super long wait between updates on this! :( The next update shouldn't take 6 months, promise!**

**Reviews:**

**FantasiaCalcas: Awww, thank you darling! Hah, I don't blame you. I love Artie and all his glorious lines. xD**

**Guest 1: At the end of American Trains, they returned to Penn. This story picks up a year afterwards, and they're still in Penn.**

**ncalkins: All is revealed, my dear.**

**Sora Resi: Wooo for morning reads!**

**Blackie: Ahhh, girl, are you serious about that trolley = shopping cart thing? xD Hahaha, but hey, no control over surnames. i certainly wouldn't want to be named that! Thanks deary!**

**Ayumu smile: Aww, I can't give the ending away, but yes this will end up being about the same length as AT. :)**

**Sadistic Brit: ASDGHJKLL;;KKK! Hi there! Thanks so much! :D I'm glad you got acquainted with AT and now here! (btw, love your art. I totes follow you on tumblr).**

**Mokuren no Ken: Awww, I doubt it was mediocre. ;)**

**TG: YES I CAN TELL FROM YOUR CAPS THAT YOU ENJOYED. ^^**

**blackcat: Always the trouble with murders. People always look into it. :P**

**Urchin of the Riding Stars: It's Al. That damn big heart of his makes it hard to give up on Artie, even if it will drive him mad. :(**

**Julybes: Oh no. I can't just leave them happy like that. Gotta stir up the angst :)**

**Inkaugneato: Sadly, there was no such thing as treatment for the mentally ill in the 1870s. Proper mental health treatment is a fairly new concept. :(**

**Saint Iggy: Thanks! :D**

**Guest 2: I'm going to assume the word left out was a bad word. 'Cause yeah, it's true xD**

**Anne: Sadism is best while reading fics. :) it's the angst and drama that make it fun.**

**Tamagoakura: But he'll never have the guts to put Artie down like the mad dog he is. He can't. He loves him too much, ad realizing that would just shatter his world. :(**

**BlackTudorRose: Yeah, def meant equines. Sorry about that guys!**

**Liung: I'm not gonna play psychologist here too long, but Arthur's condition could be many things. I purposefully keep it vague because that's not the point of the story(ies). However, I purposefully stayed away from schizophrenia. I think it's over used and very little research done prior to writing on it. Schizo is identified mainly through: delusions, hallucinations, paranoia, social withdrawal, abnormal speech, extreme reactions, depression and/or insomnia. Arthur exhibits none of these things past what mentally healthy humans experience (He hears his alter, which is a single voice, where as many schizo sufferers will hear many, many voices). DID is a much closer fit. His alter doesn't have a name simply because I haven't given him one. He has his own personality. In fact he gets angry with Arthur often and is in fact jealous of Arthur. Memory relapses are also not constant, especially seen in co-conscious sufferers, when the alters are aware of each other. Arthur spent years on the streets experiencing those blackouts over the course of those years. The 2 weeks AT occurred simply wasn't one of those times. Anyway, yeah. Thanks for pointing it out though. I should have addressed it earlier. Apologies guys.**

**Ivory Greenfeild: Yay! Thanks! ^^**

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The storm hadn't eased its relentless pace by the time Alfred arrived home. He was quick to rush over the threshold and shut the door behind him as the rain tried to follow him inside. Huffing out a sigh of relief to be out of the wind and rain, Alfred leaned his weight against the simple door. He was quick to perk up though as the thought of Arthur crossed his mind. He would be warm and dry and fuss over Alfred returning home dripping wet. And Alfred would love the thinly veiled affection, exactly what he needed after being sent home early yet again. Arthur always had a way of warming Alfred's heart against the callous bitterness of his boss' ugly comments.

"Artie?" he called when the Englishman didn't peek around the corner from the living room as he usually did when he heard the door. When there was no response, Alfred furrowed his brows. Maybe Arthur was sleeping and hadn't heard him?

"Arthur?" The American wandered into the living room, but it was barren of his beloved Englishman. Nothing seemed out of place either. Everything was as neat and tidy as Arthur liked it. Spare blankets were folded precisely over the arms of their couch. A tea set was laid out on the table without a speck of dust on any of the finely polished pieces. The fireplace was cleaned of soot, freshly loaded to be lit at anytime they wanted to curl in front of a fire and doze. Normal. Everything was entirely normal, yet Alfred couldn't shake the feeling that something just wasn't right.

He jogged to their bedroom, hopes high that he would find his lover's form nuzzled into a pillow, beneath soft blankets and fast asleep for his afternoon nap. Alfred's shoulders slumped when he discovered the bed perfectly made without Arthur to keep it company.

Slouched against the doorway, Alfred worried his bottom lip between his teeth. The nervous apprehension knotting his stomach made him shiver, cold slithering down his spine. The house was small, no more than three or four rooms, and there wasn't anywhere else Arthur could be. The only other place he could think the emerald-eyed man could possibly be was in the garden, but it was raining miserably, which eliminated even that last-ditch notion. The Englishman had simply vanished.

Unsure of what to do, Alfred began to pace across their bedroom without even realizing it. His hand groomed through his damp hair as his boots wore into the creaky wood flooring with each flighty step. With his mind racing of thoughts of Arthur, he entirely lost track of time. It wasn't until he accidentally bumped the side of the bed that he was snapped to attention. His worried glass-blue gaze settled on the lone window overlooking their room. The rain was coming down just as hard as it had been when he'd left the stables. Only now the sky was naturally darkening as night crept on.

It did nothing to settle Alfred. The blue-eyed cowboy swallowed hard before moving to the small nightstand drawer for one last check of something. If Arthur had gone out willingly, he never would leave without his penknife. And pulling the drawer open, he only confirmed Arthur had left on his own accord. The Englishman was lethal to tangle with that knife, which meant Arthur hadn't returned on his own accord.

Alfred suddenly returned to the front door. He grabbed a heavy coat from the stand beside the threshold and quickly shrugged it onto his shoulders. If Arthur wasn't here, it meant he was out in the rain somewhere. While he usually wouldn't worry - Arthur loved to wander and was his own man, and Alfred never questioned that - this trepidation worming in his gut just couldn't be ignored. If he could just get an idea where Arthur was, and that he was safe, the ex-cowboy would resign to that.

Ducking his head and dashing down the stairs, Alfred pelted into the rain to search for the lost Englishman.

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***~.:FY:.~***

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Arthur watched the rapid ripples of the water with disinterest. The rain distorted the usually pristine reflection of himself, though it did wash the blood from his face. Runny pink streams trickled down his face, washed away by the sweeping current of the swollen river.

A malevolent grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he swept back his soaked, blood-stained hair from his eyes. Watching Trolley's blood wash away brought a sick sense of completion to the grisly deed he'd enjoyed so much. Smirking, Arthur dipped his hands in the water to clean the rest of the blood from them as well.

It was only as he brought them back up to splash the cold river water across his face that he heard a shout above the roar of the rain. Narrowed emerald eyes darted about, but were unable to spot a figure through the gray haze of the downpour. The voice persisted though, and Arthur had half a mind to bolt before anyone caught him out this late after his assassination. Anyone could have stumbled upon the carriage or wondered where Trolley was.

"Artie!"

Arthur calmed. There was only one man that ever called him by that obnoxious pet name, and it just so happened it was the only man he didn't fear stumbling upon tonight. In fact, he was glad Alfred was here. Wouldn't his cowboy be delighted never having to deal with that piggish Trolley's awful insults and spite ever again. The Englishman licked his lips excitedly, that wicked grin returning as he rose to his feet.

"Alfred!" he called into the darkness. It didn't take long for the splash of heavy boots in the watery grass leading down to the river banks reached his ears.

"Artie!" Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as he slowed to a halt before his lover. Clasping his hands on Arthur's shoulders, the American grinned. It was so much more of a comfort to physically feel the older safe beneath his hands than he'd originally thought. Running about in the rain amidst the soggy shadows and his own dreary ideas had worn on the big stablehand. "I'm glad ya 'k, Artie. I was gettin' real worried about ya."

Arthur skimmed his hands along Alfred's arms, the hard muscle beneath his wet shirt bringing his heart up to speed. The thrill of destroying Trolley and lifting Alfred free of that man's terrible control had given him a dark titillation. Getting to feel those thick arms and telling Alfred of his necessary crime left a maddening grin flashing his canines.

The younger gripped him tighter, an unnerving concern furrowing his brows.

"Ar-"

But Arthur cut him off by sealing their lips together. His fingers felt the powerful muscles of Alfred's arms in favor of knotting in his hair. The younger naturally relaxed into the familiar feel of the madman's lips on his own, but his decent common sense reminded him that something was amiss. That uncomfortable feeling from earlier hadn't left him, in fact, it had only intensified upon seeing that eerily familiar grin. It never meant anything good had transpired.

Withdrawing, he was met with resistance as Arthur's teeth grazed his lips and his hands held fast to his fallow-gold hair. Arthur breathed hotly against his lips, barely an inch away. His emerald eyes seemed to flicker though and refocused in confusion.

"Alfred?" He tipped his head to the side, hands coming down to mirror the cowboy's and rest on the taller's shoulders. "I- wait, what are you doing out here?"

"Came to ask ya the same thing," Alfred drawled, perfectly mild-mannered even at his lover's strange behavior. It was nothing new to him, rather, it was perfectly normal in Alfred's caring eyes. The Englishman's irrational behavior was just a part of the man he'd fallen in love with nearly three years ago.

"I had to do something," Arthur responded, gently moving his hands down to rest on Alfred's broad chest.

"What exactly did ya have to do?"

"Kill-" Arthur suddenly gasped. Alfred hated when he did this. But he just couldn't help himself. He was tired of seeing Alfred coming home so miserable no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Something had had to be done, and while he knew it would upset Alfred, another part of him hoped the big American would be grateful for his handiwork.

Judging by the way Alfred's grip on the older tightened to the point of pain, Arthur guessed that wasn't the gratitude he'd desired.

"What do ya mean 'kill', Artie?" the American glared down at his sternly, anger boiling his blood. He'd known a long time that Arthur couldn't keep away from the thrill of taking another's life, but that wasn't the side of the emerald-eyed man he loved. He could overlook that darker aspect in place of the affectionate, curious man he knew was generally in control. Now though, even the calm side of Arthur seemed to have been in consorts to murder. Just who had been his latest victim, Alfred didn't know, but dread filled his gut to the point of nausea at the very idea of more blood on Arthur's guilty hands.

"Answer me!" Alfred roared when the older refused to respond. Arthur seemed to rear up to the challenge, eyes blazing with malevolence.

"Trolley! I slaughtered that fat low-life like the pig he was!" Teeth bared in a ferocious smile, Arthur chuckled as he stumbled back from the force of Alfred shoving him away. He barely kept himself from falling back into the river, but managed to catch his heel in the river rocks.

"What the hell are you thinkin', Arthur! Ya can't kill folks like Trolley! Ya shouldn't be killin' anyone!"

"There are people in this world that deserve to die. I just speed up the process is all. Trolley had to die. All he ever did was hurt you, and for that he deserved to have his throat slit."

"That ain't ya call to make! Ya ain't God!"

"I may as well be for all His absence!"

Alfred had had enough. He balled his hands into fists in Arthur's jacket as he grabbed the Englishman. Hauling him to his chest, he came within inches of the madman's willy grin.

"Ya a goddamn fool, Arthur! We was doin' so good out here! Why'd ya have to ruin everythin'?" He growled, throwing Arthur to the ground with a splash.

Arthur blinked, rubbing the water out of his eyes as he gazed up at Alfred. Teeth bared and chest heaving, Alfred looked frightening from his angle. The fissure of lightning across the sky illuminating the anger in his cobalt gaze had Arthur shrinking away.

"Nothing is ruined, brute! We-"

"Nah! People wonder 'bout men like Trolley, Arthur! When he don't come home, people gonna go lookin'! Where'd ya leave his body?"

"In the road," Arthur mumbled. The American knotted his fingers in his hair in absolute frustration. That gave them almost no time. As soon as this rain cleared, there would no doubt be search parties looking for the oil baron. His servants might even be out already. And a body in the middle of the road was sure to be found near instantly.

"We gotta go," he whispered in horror.

"What? Go where?"

"Anywhere. But we gotta go."

"You're not making sense, brute-"

Alfred suddenly grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, hauling him up and wincing as it sent a jolt of pain through his old wound. Despite the rough treatment, Arthur touched where the scar was gingerly. He didn't like seeing Alfred in pain, and he knew the gunshot wound from three years ago had destroyed the strength in the muscle leaving his lover in pain during bad weather and the cold.

The American seemed to calm some as the emerald-eyed man massaged the weak muscle to soothe him. The budding rage he'd felt dwindled beneath Arthur's skilled hands and seeing the look of remorse darken his features. He'd always had trouble staying angry with Arthur. The Brit could twist Alfred's stomach with his horrific deeds but one look at those emerald eyes had the younger wanting to put his arms around him. Arthur had a strange sense of justice. Killing was his way of trying to protect the stablehand, and no matter how many times he'd tried to convince Arthur otherwise, there was always some dark rationale that seemed to cloud his sense of morals.

Alfred pulled Arthur to him, feeling the Brit wrap his arms around his barrel chest.

"God, Artie... why'd ya have to do it?" he whispered mournfully, feeling his heart tear in two. They couldn't stay here. People would ask questions once the body was found. Everyone in Oil City knew Trolley's awful treatment of his employees, and there would be plenty of suspicion from an ex-soldier with the means to kill. Arthur wasn't exactly the town favorite either. They could risk staying, maybe they could avoid being investigated, but already the guilt was eating at him. He didn't even want to stay here. It had been difficult coping with Arthur's murders he had he left behind years ago, but actually having to walk by Trolley's mansion each day, knowing he'd been murdered - likely violently so - would kill him.

"I'm sorry, brute. I don't know what came over me. I hated seeing you so upset," Arthur murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder. His apology was for upsetting Alfred, rather than killing Trolley. The Brit had no regrets about slaying such an unkind man. He felt Alfred nodded against him before settling his chin on Arthur's head.

"Let's get out of the rain."

"We can figure this out when we get home," Alfred finished, agreeing with leaving this miserable weather at their front door.

The younger moved back, holding Arthur at arms length. The older blinked up at him through his gold lashes, water droplets clinging to them like clear beads. Grooming back his damp bangs from his forehead, Alfred shook his head. It was still amazing - in a morbid way - that someone that looked like such a petite, well-groomed gentleman could turn in an instant into a lethal killer without true remorse. He was plenty keen to Arthur's inability to suffer from the guilt of murdering. His only penance came with Alfred's obvious upset. Arthur only cared about his victims because Alfred cared.

That disturbing fact couldn't override the love he held for him though, and as his blue gaze met his emerald, he knew it was a fatal flaw of his. Still, Arthur was his world, and having lost him for nearly two years already, giving up the Brit was not an option no matter the crime.

Taking the older by the wrist, he tugged him towards the direction of their tiny home on the hill. Arthur ran beside him without another word spoken between them until they reached the house.

Arriving on the porch, Arthur was felt panting. The cool, damp air plagued his lungs with a sharp sting. Alfred was only a step or so behind him, pushing open the door and ushering the smaller inside.

"Here," Alfred said as he helped Arthur peel off his sodden suit jacket, "get out of these. You'll catch a cold."

"I'm fine," Arthur insisted, but didn't physically protest as Alfred helped him strip down to his underwear. He dumped the sopping wet clothes before the fireplace, and collected Alfred's as well once the cowboy was down to nearly nothing.

"Bring blankets. I'll get a fire going."

Alfred nodded somberly before heading back to their bedroom with his head bowed. Arthur watched him go with concern etched in his visage. The American's shoulders were braced with tension as he vanished around the corner. Even the way he'd been rather rough with tugging the suit from Arthur had hinted at his internal conflict.

Turning away, Arthur picked up the matches he always left beside the hearth and struck one to a blaze. Touching the flame to the dry tinder he kept freshly stocked, a warming blaze quickly picked up. He shook out the match, sighing heavily. The sudden rush of air as a heavy blanket was placed on his shoulders startled him, but Alfred's arms were quickly around him. The big American sat back, seating the older in his lap to comfortably hug his middle section.

"We can't stay," Alfred mutter dimly. His eyes looked into the fire, but saw something else entirely. The licking flames reminded the ex-cowboy of the raging fire that had nearly killed them both in Kansas. His shoulder ached at the remembrance of the gunshot wound that had just been part of the terrible trial. The screams of their horses and the blood rushing in his ears sent him spiraling through the painful ordeal all over again.

He must have unconsciously pulled Arthur closer, hugged him tighter, as the Brit turned his head to leave a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Why, Artie? Why..." he buried his face against the emerald-eyed man's neck. "I thought we had it made here. I thought ya liked it here."

"I do! I didn't mean for this," Arthur insisted, bringing his arm back to coil his fingers in the soft, wet hairs of the nape of Alfred's neck. "I just want you to be happy, my dear sweet brute. That's all."

"Ya gone 'bout it so wrong, Artie. Damn it!" he swore, frustration raising his tone. Arthur had the decency to bow his head in shame. The genuine upset in his lover's voice made the Brit want to curl away from that hurt he'd caused and never have to face it again. But that was entirely out of the question as Alfred huffed out a sigh against his neck.

"We need to pack."

"Where are we going?"

"I dun' know yet. But we can't stay here. The longer we linger, the more danger we're in."

"I understand," Arthur agreed complacently. He went along limply as the younger rose, pulling him to his feet with his unusual strength. The blanket was still over his shoulders when Alfred turned the Brit to face him.

"Go pack whatever you can. Arthur, we're not comin' back."

The words made it too real, and the terrible look of anguish written in every fiber of Alfred's being crippled his heart. He felt it pang as Alfred moved away.

"I'll grab what we can take with us for food and money. Just go get clothes and such."

"Alfred-"

"Just go, Arthur. Please..." and he walked away, heading into the kitchen. He glanced back only briefly at the smaller man huddled in the blankets, looking distraught and shivering from the cold of a damp chill. His chest constricted painfully as he spoke.

"Get dressed too."

"Are we leaving tonight?"

"We'll make a run fer Pittsburgh as soon as ya ready. It's only a few hours with Hero and Cisco."

"Then what?"

"We'll head West."

"Back to Kansas?"

Alfred nodded solemnly. There was one particular place he had in mind, somewhere they wouldn't be questioned for their sudden arrival carrying all that he could on their backs.

"We're goin' to Dodge City."

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**Wooo! Finally back on track guys and gals! Thanks for your patience and all your wonderful reviews! :)**

**You all can get updates on this story's progress along with updates for all my other stories on my tumblr: hellieace. tumblr. com**


	4. The Hunted

**Fooling You**

**Chapter 3: The Hunted**

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**Hi everyone! Sorry for the wait (I feel like I'll be saying this until Summer when I graduate xD) But not as long as last time, so yay! Hope and pray these come faster now that we're actually getting to the good parts of the story: the adventure!**

**Reviews: **

**Secretfan360: No, thank you for reading and reviewing, m'dear.**

**BlackTudorRose: Emotions happen next! ^^ **

**Anne Fatalism: Awww, thanks, lovely! I appreciate that! **

**Sora Resi: Dawww~**

**VengefulMothSlayer: He's gotten sloppy and complacent. He's been taught he can get away with it now, so exploits that. Now its coming back to bite him in the butt.**

**Tamagoakura: Heh, Western towns are very spaced. Walking to work isn't really an option if you live in the next city over. Dodge was city notorious for harboring criminals of all tiers. You could go there to fly under the radar for a bit, then leave for a new town without arousing too much suspicion. **

**Ayumu smile: Panic, y'know. Neither of them are thinking straight enough to decide to lay low. :P**

**Ivory Greenfeild: Heeheee thanks!**

**Blackcat: Hmmm, funny you should mention Canada... *whistles* **

**Guest: Me too! ^^**

**Singing Artist: Funny you should also mention Mattie... *whistles more***

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**Fooling You - Chapter 3**

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Mounted astride Hero at the top of the hill, Alfred looked out across the town's two halves with longing. The long bridge that joined either side on the banks of the Allegheny gleamed under the pale sliver of moonlight. The rain had finally ceased, letting the clouds part to dapple moonbeams on Oil City for the first time that night. The wet grass brushed against hero's finely carved hooves, leaving the little clear orbs to glint in the faint light.

The soft press of dewy grass beneath hooves alerted him to Arthur drawing Cisco to the crest of the hill as well. The dapple-gray mare snorted into the night air, her breath appearing as a pale cloud of damp vapor. The night was chill, and the air heavy from the torrent earlier, leaving an unsettling weight on the cowboy's shoulders as he looked back.

The darkness shrouded most of Arthur's figure, but Alfred didn't need any light to know exactly the expression he wore or miss any feature of his love's face. He knew every contour by heart, could almost remember every pore and scar on his fingertips if he really wanted to. And it was precisely why he knew Arthur didn't look at him, nor the town, but rather at the silver hairs of Cisco's mane. He could even vaguely see the light shimmering as the strands moved, the Brit's hand ghosting through them.

No remorse for murder.

Alfred knew that from the way Arthur shifted a bit when he felt Alfred's gaze on him. The Brit swallowed hard clearly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar way Alfred coldly glared at him. The ex-cowboy couldn't help it. Normally it was impossible to be upset with Arthur. Yes, there was that brief flash of disbelief and outrage, but it was usually snuffed out within mere moments. This time though, Alfred couldn't seem to let go of his anger.

This was his home, the life he'd wanted for so long, all ripped out from underneath his feet. All because of Arthur.

The Brit shrunk away, as if sensing another wave of anger radiating from Alfred. His fingers knotted in Cisco's mane, and the mare snorted beneath him. When Alfred still refused to speak, refused to break the tension between them, the dapple-gray horse took a step back, feeling her rider grow nervous and upset.

The American swallowed hard, suddenly feeling guilty as he watched Arthur shift uncomfortably and seem genuinely upset. Even in the din of the silver light, it was painfully apparent. And while it may not have been regret for slaughtering the oil baron, it was regret for hurting Alfred. Arthur probably didn't understand the extent of that pain, but he knew it was there. The blue-eyed man wouldn't be this visibly shaken up.

"Alfred?" he dared, voice barely above a whisper. Alfred didn't respond, but inclined his head to acknowledge him. He didn't trust his voice. He had the feeling if he tried responding, it would come out a lot harsher than he wanted to be with the smaller. It wasn't that he was perfectly ready to forgive and forget, but that didn't mean he wanted to hurt Arthur with harsh words he knew he would regret later. The Brit had a tendency to take what Alfred said to heart, even when the cowboy wished he wouldn't. Sometimes anger and confusion just forced his tongue.

"Alfred?" he called again, urging Cisco forward to bring her beside Hero. Their legs brushed, and Arthur tried to meet the younger's eyes. But the American refused, keeping his eyes trained on the city below them. He was so reluctant to go, didn't want to turn away. He'd convinced himself for so long that he wouldn't leave home again. The war was behind him, the West was behind him, and all he needed was the cool mountain air, a quiet, stable home, the satisfaction of a hard day's work, and the warmth of a familiar lover. Now what was he left with?

He glanced briefly at Arthur, those bright green eyes blinking up at him with worry. Well, at least he still had a lover.

"We best be goin'. Can't linger here too long."

"Alfred-"

"If we hurry, we can make the mornin' train." Alfred cut him off, not wanting to hear anything Arthur had to say. He knew already what Arthur wanted to voice. Alfred just wasn't ready to hear it. He still wanted someone to blame, someone to make him feel better about losing everything all over again. Perhaps it was unfair to Arthur, but he was the only one the younger knew to guilt. And this was the Brit's fault after all.

"Of course," Arthur resigned, solemnly watching as Hero was turned away and walked down the slope. The emerald-eyed man averted his gaze, feeling a guilt pain well up in his chest. His green gaze alighted on the stars twinkling above them, dashes and gems of pale light across a sable dome. But they all seemed too cold to offer Arthur any kind of solace, and so he turned Cisco away. The mare hung her head as he followed after Hero, her skin shivering faintly. Arthur felt the shudder roll down his spine as well.

The horses walked at a steady, but slow walk, their backs laden by everything the blonds could load into packs before vanishing into the night.

Their somber sojourn took them through the entirety of the rest of the night. They hardly spoke at all. Alfred might occasionally glance back at his partner and inquire if he wished to stop and rest. Arthur would simply shake his head to mean no, keeping his head bowed as if the shame made it too heavy to lift.

Alfred didn't try to comfort him. The farther away from Oil City they walked their horses, the heavier his heart felt. He'd returned and lived there for three years after their ordeal in Kansas. They'd managed to make it work together for a year as well. He'd been so convinced, and this shattering reality was hard to deal with. He wanted to cope properly, but just couldn't bring himself to shake off his loss though. It loomed over him like an ominous cloud, the dangerous spark of lightning ready to lash out with burgeoning anger he desperately tried to keep caged. He could only hope Arthur was quick enough to catch on to this fierce wrath brewing.

The Brit seemed keen on it, as he didn't dare to try apologizing for fear of not being able to prove his genuine remorse to his lover. That crackling ire surrounding Alfred made him skittish and he wouldn't even draw his horse beside Hero as they came upon the outskirts of Pittsburgh.

Alfred was quiet as he halted his chestnut and looked upon the smoky gray of the city mingling with the rosy dawn of the sun's first rays alighting on the steel infrastructure. The howl of train whistles and grinding of steel brakes reached his ears, and he turned his head towards the direction of the cacophonous noise. Clearly it wasn't far.

He didn't bother to usher Arthur to follow as he started Hero along the broad avenue that he could only hope would take him to the trains. He wasn't altogether familiar with Pittsburgh, having only passed through a few times before the war and on his return from the bloody fields. His general knowledge of the city's many busy streets should be enough though.

"Alfred, are we lost?" Arthur worried his bottom lip, nervous about this apparent lack of his American's usual enthusiasm as he merely grunted in response.

"No," he muttered after a moment, feeling Arthur's jade gaze about to burn holes through his back. He glanced over his shoulder coldly, the damp chill of the Pittsburgh alley souring his mood even further. It made his shoulder ache, sending shudders of discomfort down his back.

Arthur must have noticed his grimace at a particularly bad pang because his eyes widened and he was quick to spur Cisco up to his side. The older's hand settled on the gnarled scar, pressing his thumb just under the weakened muscle to relax it. He felt it tense under his touch, but then Alfred seemed to relax, and allowed Arthur to roll his thumb to coax the muscle into easing further.

The fact that the American didn't shirk his hand or glare death at the older dispersed some of his jittery anxiety. Maybe this was a step in the right direction at long last. Arthur wasn't used to having to appease the younger for forgiveness; he'd always been redeemed in a matter of minutes – an hour at most. He could do no wrong, until now at least.

Alfred watched the Brit through conflicted blue eyes. Arthur's touch was gentle, and the familiar feeling of the older coaxing his old wound to be peaceable was a comfort to his frayed and tensed nerves. He liked Arthur's touch, it was a snake oil for every malady Alfred could ever dream of, even this unbridled displeasure of being on the run once again. But as he pondered the notion, some of that anger flared up again and Alfred instinctively flinched out from the emerald-eyed man's dexterous fingertips.

"C'mon, the train is this way." The American kicked Hero's flanks, guiding the horse into a quick walk to traverse the remainder of the alley. He didn't even bother to look back, afraid to see the hurt look he knew he'd find marring the pale face of the man he loved.

Arthur could do nothing but watch him go. The chill in the air clamped down on his bones, making him shudder at the cold breath that enveloped him without Alfred's sturdy body so close again. The distance that spread out before them left a physical pain in his chest, squeezing his heart until the Brit whimpered quietly. But he could only mourn the loss of their closeness after he'd caught up. Being left behind in a city like Pittsburgh was not on Arthur's agenda ever.

Bringing Cisco to a trot, the Brit caught up to his companion, but kept behind him a bit. Alfred clearly was in no mood to be within personal proximity to the older still, and Arthur figured it would be best to respect that if he ever wanted to be in his usual good graces ever again. He wished his cowboy would at least look back at him, give him some kind of sign that this rift would mend, but Alfred kept his eyes trained on the space between his mount's tall ears. With a thoughtful sigh, Arthur resigned, bowing his head and simply allowing Cisco to follow behind the tall chestnut.

They made their way back into the streets now that Alfred was more certain of where he was going. The smog of the train smokestacks was a clear indication that they were going in the right direction as the air steadily grew hazier.

Approaching the tall platform, Alfred suddenly drew Hero to a halt, Cisco nearly crashing into him, and glanced back at the older with only ice in his cobalt eyes. Arthur instinctively flinched, but dismounted at the quick motion Alfred made. He walked Cisco up to Hero's side, and flinched again as Alfred snatched the reins from his hand.

"Wait here," he ordered, and without another word, walked their horses around the building, leaving Arthur to stand alone amongst the oil-stained buildings and murmur of hidden crowds. The Brit looked around, awkwardly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. It was dark, only the scare light of cracked and grimy lanterns hanging aloft gave him light to see by. The ugly, ominous thunderclouds continued to blot out the sky, still threatening the city with angry flashes of lightning.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, feeling small and worrying over the American, but a heavy hand on his shoulder had him nearly jumping out of his skin. Whirling around, hand up with his penknife drawn, Arthur managed to breathe a sigh of relief. Alfred didn't look quite as relieved as Arthur felt, rather, he looked almost disgusted.

"Put it away," Alfred growled, pushing Arthur's hand down. "If people see that, they'll be suspicious of you."

'You'. Not 'us'.

Arthur nodded, ashamed at his skittish move and quickly had the knife sheathed and back in his pocket. The choice of pronouns didn't stop stinging though, even when Alfred gave his shoulder a squeeze as if to silently apologize for his harsh tone. It was still a conscious choice on Alfred's part – a choice to separate them even further. It hurt.

And that hurt must have shown because Alfred moved closer, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and guiding him back towards the entrance to the train station.

"Hero and Cisco will be boarded on the cargo boxes," he explained, seeing as he now lacked both of their cherished mounts. While it wasn't exactly the reassurance or explanation the emerald-eyed man had been hoping for, just hearing Alfred's voice without the harshness from before was a comfort.

"When does the train leave?" Arthur asked, voice muffled as he buried against Alfred's neck. The younger gave him a gentle squeeze, moving them towards the shadow of the alley's ending corner. Just a few paces and a turn, and the entrance was there, but it was quiet at this time and in the darkness they were invisible to the world.

"In 'bout an hour. We have a little time," Alfred left it open ended for the shorter's sake. A troubling and ultimately conflicting pool of emotions had his insides knotted up. He wasn't even sure what he wanted or needed right now, and in his confusion, relied on the older to make that call.

Arthur was typically keen to his love's moods, desire, and silent signals. This time was no different. He leaned back against the wooden wall of the building, his hands set on the thickly corded muscles of Alfred's upper arms. He tugged lightly, and Alfred followed, pressing their bodies flush together. Arthur groomed his fingers down his sides, taking comfort in the big American's sturdy body above and around him. Alfred rested his chin on the older's head, feeling him tuck against his throat and kiss the bulge of his Adam's apple.

The silence was brutal. Alfred could barely manage out a whisper as he struggled against the overwhelming pressure of defeat it brought.

"Why?"

Arthur nuzzled closer, the comfort of quiet shattered by a single, strained word.

"We were so happy..."

Arthur still didn't answer, praying to a God he hardly cared to believe in to bring back the silence that had surrounded them moments ago. Let Alfred shut up, let him forget it all, let him forgive.

"Weren't you?"

The emerald-eyed man finally worked up the courage to answer.

"Y-yes."

"Then why?"

"You know I can't answer that," Arthur returned, wrapping his arms around Alfred's chest as he hid away against his collar. He expected to be shoved back, but Alfred simply returned the gesture, holding his love close as he pressed him back against the wall.

"Arthur," Alfred breathed against his ear, slowly easing the Brit back so he could see his pale face. "I just wanted us to be happy. Please, what do I gotta do? What's it gonna take so we can live our lives in peace?"

Arthur met that familiar cerulean gaze with regret clouding his normally bright, curious eyes. He didn't want to give Alfred the truth. He didn't want to tell him the American would never have the peace he craved with the older. There was no peace for a man like the Brit, and he was so painfully aware of it that it left a physical ache in his chest.

So all he could do was lie.

"I don't know, Alfred. I don't know."

Alfred swallowed down the lump in his throat as he nodded. He knew this would never be easy. But that didn't mean he didn't hope and pray that one day they could settle down permanently, without the fear of Arthur's infringing psychological state to rattle their lives. But Arthur had been this way since he was an adolescent on the streets, and Alfred doubted it would change as he grew older. Still, losing hope was not something Alfred could ever bring himself to do with Arthur. The man sparked too much life and love in his heart to ever abandon.

"Well-"

"Alfred, wait," Arthur protested as Alfred let go of him. The Brit suddenly pressed himself close in a tight embrace. He leaned up to capture Alfred's lips in a slow kiss, trying to apologize for all of his mistakes with that singular motion. The blue-eyed man held his love's jaw as he returned the kiss, but he was also the one to break it off. Drawing in a deep breath of the unfortunately smoggy air, he exhaled into Arthur's hair before moving back. He wasn't ready to forget just yet, but forgiveness was always something he could loan the Brit. Even if it was just a small sliver from the ache of losing his home again, it was a step in the right direction. He knew if he held onto that resentment, it would only hurt himself and Arthur. In time, he'd mend.

The shriek of a steam whistle pulled them both away from each other to gaze up at the tall smokestack sending a column of white vapor just above the roof of the train station. Arthur sighed, brushing Alfred as he moved around him.

"I suppose that means we ought to be going."

Alfred nodded, walking beside him and consciously watching his pace so that he could stay beside the shorter.

"I left our stuff over there." Alfred motioned towards the corner where a little bench was loaded with all that they had been able to sling over their horses' broad backs. Arthur nodded as they moved towards the pile, and gathered it up with a bit of a struggle. Arthur had a sudden appreciation for Hero and Cisco's strength as they had to haul the heavy luggage onto the tall train platform. Alfred flashed their tickets to the attendant man standing beside the train before ushering the smaller man onto the train.

There was no one else aboard their carriage since they were early for departure, so Alfred didn't worry about anyone seeing as he squeezed Arthur's shoulder, and turned him around. Arthur blinked up at him, but grimaced at the terrible expression of pain in Alfred's handsome features.

"Please, Artie, I can't keep doin' this. We can't be runnin' forever. This is it. We can't go home."

"I know."

Alfred nodded. What more could he say? He couldn't force Arthur to change who he was. But that didn't mean he could forever accommodate his maniac tendencies, or always turn a blind eye to the atrocities that stained his hands in the blood of innocents. They had to go somewhere far away, away from people and happy towns and families and all the things Alfred had longed for. Not even the notoriety of Dodge City would keep them safe. It was a temporary fix, Alfred thought as he took his seat, keeping Arthur towards the window. But the train ride would give the younger time to think. And he had to think of something. The rest of their lives was going to depend on it.

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**Thanks for reading and reviewing, all my lovelies! :3 Get updates on all my other projects on my tumblr (plus I reblog plenty of USUK for y'all) : hellieace. tumblr. com**


	5. A Devil's Trap

**Chapter 4: A Devil's Trap**

***Waves* Hello again, readers.**

**So, good news: I'm getting Kay back! Yay for betas! I was waiting to post this until she got to it, but it'll be a bit longer and I feel bad about withholding something I actually had done. So here. Chapter 5 will very likely be beta'd by her and the remaining as well. :3**

**Reviews: **

**Sora Resi: Yeah, he's just- emmm, lost, I suppose? I think that best explains the shift.**

**Sarpndo: Actually, Oregon was pretty hopin' in the Western expansion age for America. Oregon trail, new land distributing, Indian removal, statehood, fighting the Brits over borders and the slavery clauses in the Oregon territory constitution making a pain to be admitted to the Union. Oregon was a hot mess for the US for a bit, but people flocked to it. Big fur and lumber trade up there was ripe with wealth for people going West. **

**Tamagoakura: A man can dream, and live in his delusion, can't he? ;)**

**april. sherbert: Pffffft Alfred's a softy.**

**Trahnael: Answered in a pm. :)**

**blackcat: He expected a perfect, quiet life because that's the naivety he chooses to indulge himself in :P**

**KnightByDesign: *Puts on her own shades* Maybe they will... maybe the won't... stick around, sweet-cheeks. **

**Minooshka: Nope, promise he's not bipolar. DID is a very strange psychological disorder in that you are actually dealing with separate individuals. Dark!Art is his own person, and so is Arthur. Some patients of DID have reported being co-conscious of their alters, in that they recognize them as separate people. This is where it usually gets mistaken as schizophrenia, but they're very different. Arthur's earliest incidents with his alter when he can't remember what he did were because he had not recognized Dark!Art as a person. Dark!Art was present, not Arthur. Remember, back then, these kinds of things were not just simply known. People didn't really understand physiological disorders, diseases and abnormalities. Through years of dealing with the condition, Arthur slowly came into understanding, and in turn becoming co-conscious with Dark!Art. This is why he can tell what is happening, despite Dark!Art being manifested. Imagine it almost like seeing through another's eyes, but only seeing, not interacting. That's the only way I can really think to describe it. Abnormal Psych, isn't it great? xD Anyways, thanks for reading AT and giving it a chance!**

**Ivory Greenfeild: Thank you, dear!**

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**Chapter 4: A Devil's Trap**

The train ride gave Alfred a chance to sleep on his worries. He wasn't fitful per say, but his sleep was shallow as his mind raced. He kept finding himself waking each time the train passed over a rough patch of tracks. And being jolted awake yet, he had to instantly glance over to his left to ensure Arthur was still beside him. The older was curled up against his side, head on his shoulder and his fingers gripping Alfred's cotton shirt. He didn't look any better than Alfred felt. There was a grimace on his lips, and his brows were furrowed, almost as if he were in pain.

With a sympathetic sigh, the blue-eyed man carefully removed Arthur's fingers from his shirt so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders. Arthur made a soft noise in his sleep, but nuzzled close and curled his hands into Alfred's shirt again. Alfred smiled as the pained expression eased some and his love could feel his comforting body heat washing over him in the cool cabin.

It was always the strangest thing. Arthur looked small and completely non-threatening with his legs tucked up on the seat and his nose pressed into Alfred's flank. Yet somehow a whole other monster occupied the same body, and turned his lover into a cunning killer at the slightest provocation. The murderous glint his lover's eyes could hold was enough to chill the bones and send a shudder down his whole body.

Arthur stirred at the disturbance, nuzzling closer and grumbling something incoherent. He blinked up at Alfred with a sleepy expression, hair mussy and mouth slightly agape. The cowboy offered a soft smile.

"Ya sleep okay?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the question, but didn't bother to respond as he sat up straight, and glanced out the window. Green eyes tried focusing on the blurring outside, but having trouble, was quick to give up out of boredom. Alfred watched him curiously, finding Arthur's silence a bit strange considering the older rarely refused a chance to exchange words.

"Are we almost there?" Arthur muttered after a long lapse and Alfred had turned back inwards.

"Not sure," Alfred started, "lost track 'a time."

"Did I sleep long?"

Alfred shrugged, leaning closer as Arthur turned away to look out the window once more. He couldn't see the emerald-eyed man's expression, but he could feel the tension between them that hadn't left since Oil City. He'd hoped it would gradually disperse, but it wasn't looking like a viable option any longer. There had been a bright moment Alfred had believed it was gone in the alley behind the train station, but it had crept back between them, making the American wonder what Arthur had been dreaming of to keep him aloofly hostile. It left him sighing wistfully, and Arthur glanced back at him. There was a flicker of hope in Alfred's bright eyes, but it was quickly dashed when the older turned away again, forehead pressed to the glass without a word.

He had no other choice but to resign after that, though he rested his chin on Arthur's shoulder for a moment. The emerald-eyed man sighed quietly, relaxing under the touch, but felt afraid to speak for fear of upsetting Alfred. What else could he really say? Apologizing again would solve nothing, and trying to make amends would be pointless. There was nothing he could give to Alfred to make up for this.

So they sat in silence, Alfred eventually leaning back to fall asleep while Arthur restlessly debated in his mind.

_"It was worth it. That place was getting old anyway,"_ the shadowy voice hissed.

_No! Alfred loved that home!_

_"Trolley had to die! And how could he love it? That pig treated my cowboy like a mangy dog!"_

_It was his hometown! Imagine how it would be to go back to London!_

_"London was a filthy place..."_

_But it was home..._

He was jolted from his thoughts by the sharp shriek of the train whistle. The jerk jostled Alfred too, who had slumped in his seat against Arthur during the long ride. Arthur hadn't realized the extensive length of time he'd been oblivious to the world around them. Looking out the window to avoid Alfred's drowsy mumblings and obvious question of where they were, the Brit watched the world fly by.

"Why won't ya talk to me?" Alfred suddenly asked, a strange expression on his visage. Arthur looked back, unsure of what he read in those shining blue eyes and the slight furrow of his brows.

"We can talk if you'd like."

"Not what I was meanin', Artie."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Ya know."

Arthur loosed a frustrated sigh, knowing exactly what Alfred wanted, but too pensive to actually speak the words. So he said nothing else, and the dejected look that he earned from his cowboy hurt more than he cared to admit. The blue-eyed man backed off after that, returning to gazing around the cabin before he was dozing from boredom again.

They didn't speak a word to each other the rest of the agonizingly long train ride. It went on through the night, and eventually Arthur fell asleep as well. He woke occasionally, sometimes with his head on Alfred's shoulder, or slumped against his body. The younger never seemed to mind despite the emerald-eyed man flinching every time he realized the situation. He almost expected some kind of cold shoulder routine or maybe even a rebuttal, but Alfred did nothing but smile sadly at him as he inched away in his seat.

So when the time finally came to disembark, Arthur practically skittered away the second his feet hit the ground. He moved into the crowd, vanishing to catch his breath, trying to get a moment away from the man that left him feeling guilt-ridden and bogged down with it. Breathing coming in harsh pants, the Arthur's eyes darted about, taking in the reddish city, the dust, the grimy faces. This certainly wasn't Pennsylvania anymore.

Arthur yelped in surprise when a heavy hand clapped his shoulder. He spun around, eyes wide and hand in his pocket when he met the startling blues of his lover.

"Ya ran like the Devil 'imself was after ya," Alfred noted, worrying his lower lip.

There it was again. That tone. It was laced with such maddening guilt that it made Arthur shrink under Alfred's gaze, feeling wretched and repulsive. It took Alfred making a noise in his throat to drag the older from his inner detest to finally make some sort of response to justify his actions.

"Err, I don't like confined spaces. I needed a breath of fresh air, and I needed it now."

"Oh, well, I see."

Arthur awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, growing uneasy as Alfred's gaze was redirected from him to the people milling about the platform. He couldn't help but inch closer, unconsciously finding his fingers curling into Alfred's hand. He was shocked when Alfred shook him off.

"Not here," he said, eyes alert as he continued to observe.

Arthur withdrew his hand as if he'd been stung, miserable and uncomfortable without the gentle friendliness of his cowboy by his side. He regretted not making amends on the train, he really did, he just had no idea how to go about doing it.

"What are you looking for, brute?" he whispered, trying to lighten himself, and maybe draw Alfred back to him.

"Hunters," Alfred stated before grabbing their bags and nudging Arthur off towards the main street.

"Hunters?" Arthur questioned, glancing up for an explanation as they walked. "Like Ivan?"

"Yeah," the younger responded, keeping at attention, "I doubt Trolley's death's been heard out here yet, but it dun' hurt to be cautious. Last thing we need's another Ivan chasin' us."

Shivering, Arthur couldn't agree more. Just the thought of the ambitious Russian sent a chill down his spine. He'd spent so long fleeing from the man, lost Alfred for two years because of him, and now to think a new man could take his grisly place frightened the older. He swallowed hard, and doubled his efforts to keep pace with his American as they made their way to a lodge with vacancies.

Upon reaching their room, Alfred shut the door, and leaned back on it with a rough sigh. Arthur turned, eyes filled with worry as all the life and energy seemed to drain from his love's body. He couldn't help but move to him, but the cowboy skirted away, heading for the bed. He hadn't even bothered to move their belongings away, having dropped them at the entrance.

Lip quivering with nervous apprehension, Arthur immediately followed.

Alfred had taken to lying flat on his stomach, arms folded under his head as he tried to think of their next move. It made him sick to his stomach to imagine another hunter chasing them. He'd lost the love of his life for two long, miserable years. He'd brooded and fallen so far in those aching times, a shell of his former happy-go-lucky self. He couldn't do it again, he couldn't lose Arthur again. And he couldn't keep him safe with this ugly distance between them. He needed Arthur to be at his side, smiling and trusting again. Just watching the older dart off the train and vanish into the crowd had sent his heart plummeting. The emerald-eyed man could vanish without a trace at any second, had spent the better part of his life in obscurity. And the cowboy's greatest fear was that someday his love really would be gone, stolen or fled, and loneliness would be his only companion once again.

His eyes widened as he was pulled from his thoughts by a soft weight on his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he was surprised to find bright emerald's watching him with concern. Arthur had crawled onto his back, draping himself on the cowboy's much larger frame. Head resting on his shoulder, Arthur offered an apologetic kiss to his cheek before settling back down.

Arthur's slight weight didn't bother the thickly built American in the slightest, but the kiss had him blushing faintly. He didn't know what to say, wasn't sure how to fix anything anymore. Maybe his mind was just too crowded. Maybe he was clinging to his lover too much. He just didn't know.

"Alfred," Arthur whispered, nuzzling the nape of his neck, trying to find the excitable and loving cowboy he'd left behind that stormy Pennsylvanian morning.

"Artie, I think I'm gonna take a walk. I wanna clear m' thoughts. 'Sides, my legs' stiff as boards from that train."

The older sighed.

"As you wish," he mumbled.

"Hey, Artie?"

"Hmm?"

"Dun' follow me, 'right?"

Arthur was silent, being somewhat forced to agree. He owed Alfred that at the very least. But he didn't move. It wasn't that it didn't faze him to, it was more that he hoped Alfred would change his mind. Maybe he would let him stay perched on his back, stay close, make things right. Alfred didn't stir either, the same thoughts occupying the various niches of his mind, hoping and praying somehow the Brit's silver tongue would concoct some kind of cure-all for this void left between them.

But it never came. Arthur snapped his jaw shut, afraid to speak and deepen the crack. He knew he wouldn't lose Alfred, couldn't really. It would have been the death of them both; Arthur would be destroyed by his own madness, Alfred from his loneliness, but it didn't mean the strain couldn't leave an ugly scar.

Finally, Alfred breathed a terrible sigh, one that left his very bones aching and had Arthur cringing. Rolling his heavy shoulders, the American braced his hands beneath him and rose. Arthur skittered off, sitting cross-legged in the sheets and shoulders slumped . A twinge of guilt left a pang in the younger's heart seeing those bright eyes turned downward at his slim, knotted fingers. He kneaded at the linen as he felt those blue orbs upon him, imagining the accusation he knew should be there, though Alfred wouldn't show it.

"I'll be back soon," Alfred muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

"Very well."

"Stay outta trouble," he said, and Arthur felt the rebuttal in those words even if Alfred hadn't intended it. When the door shut, Alfred having departed, Arthur slumped into the pillows with a miserable groan. All he could do now was wait, and pray that this walk would somehow clear away the distasteful separation Alfred felt in his heart for the Brit that could ruin his life like the slice of a knife through skin.

But time came and went until the sun had long since vanished. Its dying embers left only the faintest color in the sky when Arthur peeked out the window of their room for what could have possibly been the hundredth time.

The bright lights of saloons dominated the main street where most shops had closed up and dimmed. Shadows of men flickered around porches or from windows, their silhouettes laughing and drinking. Arthur furrowed his thick brows, looking for one distinguishing shape among them. Alfred had said he was taking a walk, but the man could have walked Dodge three times with how long he'd been gone, and the emerald-eyed man thought he had ulterior motives.

Leaning up, he folded his arms across the window ledge, and set his head down with a wistful exhale. He hated when Alfred drank. He wasn't violent or any such thing under the burn of liquor, but he only took to alcohol when his heart was hurting. And that gnawed at Arthur with unease and even more guilt.

He had to wrench his gaze away after so long, unable to keep his mind from wandering to a darker place than the nightlife of Dodge. Arthur grabbed his coat, shrugged it on and was out the door as he smoothed the wrinkles down his chest.

Exiting the lodge and stepping out on the porch was like being transported to a whole other world. The night came alive with shadows thrown in every direction, the sound of harsh laughter and the cacophonous noise of pianos, bands, and glasses all making their own lively music. The air smelled of liquor and dust, and the people sang and cheered to God-only-knows what rowdy girl or tune. It was absolutely intoxicating.

Arthur swallowed hard as he stepped from the porch and was barreled into by a group of men leading around a flirtatious saloon girl. Stumbling, Arthur managed to get around them, but the girl sent Arthur a wink before wrapping her arm around the neck of a scraggly fellow as they went on their way. The Brit shook his head, dusting off his coat before making it across the street without another incident.

Already a bit shaken from earlier, Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when he was yanked off his feet the moment he entered the nearest saloon.

"Hey, Artie!" the jubilant and very drunk voice of his American called. Alfred hauled Arthur up into his lap with his abnormal strength. The resounded squeak and squirming from the Brit earned a raucous laugh from the others around the table.

Wide-eyed, Arthur clawed at Alfred's forearm as it was wrapped around his middle. Clearly he was having no say in the matter as Alfred – drunk beyond logic – started babbling along with other rough looking fellows he'd decided to befriend with his friendly face.

"This here's m' friend Artie," he explained, and most of the others raised their glasses in welcome, spilling whiskey and grinning.

"Ain't he scrawny!" one exclaimed, motioning with his glass, resulting in more sloshed liquor.

"Yeah, scrawny as a starved mule! I reckon he got less meat on him than lil' miss Beth over there!" the man motioned to a petite saloon girl making her way around the tables, obviously looking for the man with the most money.

"Ya even got 'im sittin' like a real lady!" one of the men jeered, banging his hand on the table and laughing like it was the world's best joke. Alfred furrowed his brows though, and glanced down at the squirming Brit. He had the older sidesaddle in his lap, though holding onto him that way was starting to become a pain. Without much thought, he tugged Arthur to sit forward in his lap, and gave him another bone-crushing, but affectionate, squeeze.

"Nah, he ain't no gal. Artie just small, right, Artie?"

"Put me down!"

"Hey, pull the lil' fella up a seat!" one of the men rose to grab Arthur a chair, but furrowed his brows and scratched his head. The saloon writhed with people and sound, and there wasn't an empty seat to be found among the rowdy crowd. "Place is full! Sorry fella, not a chair left for ya."

"I don't care! Just put me down you brainless, drunken ogres!" Arthur howled, trying to bite at the cowboy's arm.

"Heh, he's feisty too!" Alfred grinned, squeezing Arthur's middle with what he meant as affection, though it simply crushed the air out of the Brit's lungs. "Oughta see 'im with his knife! Scare the life outta ya!"

"Nah! That lil' thing?"

"Yeah! I'm tellin' ya!"

"Alfred, shut up! Let me go!"

"Eh, I like this here lil' guy, let 'im stay!"

A cheer went up around the table, muffling the Brit's sigh of utter defeat as he slumped back against his American. The drunken men, Alfred included, didn't pay any heed to anymore of Arthur's protests, nor did they seem to mind the way the blue-eyed man kept showing his companion so much attention beyond what was friendly. Arthur was glad for that, guessing that they were too drunk to hold either themselves or Alfred accountable for whatever happened tonight. He could only hope to understand the musings of uneducated, criminal drunkards.

They kept up their heavy drinking and talking, eventually starting a game of cards as well. The Brit had long since given up on his escape, seeing as Alfred's strength didn't diminish under the affects of alcohol. Though he did have to slap Alfred's wandering hands away a few times. It seemed a little bit of playfulness crept into his blood this drunk. While he waited on the others to deal he would smooth his hand down Arthur's lithe thigh, hidden under the table, or the hand at his side would stroke down his ribs to the jut of his hipbone. It wasn't much, but Arthur was in no mood to be touched when he was being held captive against his will.

But when swatting at him didn't work, Arthur resorted to digging his nails into Alfred's skin. The blue-eyed man glanced down at him, grinned devilishly, then returned to his game with a little giggle. But when he grew bolder, influenced by his apparent win streak at a game of barely cogent poker, and slid his hand down between his companion's legs, Arthur lashed out and tore skin from Alfred's arm.

"Arthur!" Alfred whined behind a wince as he quickly withdrew the offending hand. His shoulders slumped, making the older feel a bit guilty for the absolutely miserable look his cowboy wore. But he couldn't help that he was uncomfortable as is, and getting felt in the middle of crowded, public saloon just wasn't what he wanted.

Suddenly, the scrape of a chair being pushed out and the resulting exclamation of a few men behind them caught quite a few of the saloon patron's attention. They turned, necks craned and whiskey glasses set down to see a tall blond standing with a glass in hand. He swirled the liquor before breathing a cold sigh.

"Arthur," he said, shoulders squared, though he didn't turn around. "As in, Arthur Kirkland?"

"This 'im," Alfred retorted, growing defensive and pulling Arthur closer. He could sense something was wrong, even through the drunk haze. Arthur reached for the knife in his pocket as the man turned around.

There was a brief flash of terror in Alfred's eyes as he watched the man pull a revolver from his waist, aimed straight at the older blond's eyes. But what was the strangest was that Alfred thought he was gazing into a mirror as the explosive exit of the bullet shattered the jubilant air. The entire saloon burst into chaos. Violent screams and yells deafened the crowd. People rose to try to grab the gunman, but he dodged and bashed his way through them. Another gunshot went off, sending up a splash of blood as one man at Alfred's table collapsed with a strangled shout.

The rush of air as yet another the bullet flew above Alfred's head snapped him from his shock, but glancing down, Arthur was gone.

"Arthur!" he shouted as panic took over, but as he reached out, as if he could grab the Brit back, his attacker flew by. Alfred attempted a lunged attack, but stumbled over his own feet, poisoned nerves frayed from the alcohol. "Arthur!" he screamed again, trying to make it to the door as both men vanished beyond it. It was to no avail, as a set of firm hands grabbed his shoulders, and forced him back into his seat.

"Nothin' ya can do, son. They long gone and ya ain't in no shape to be chasin' a madman with a gun!" the bartender tried to reason, but Alfred refused to listen, and continued to struggle. More hands had to hold him down as he raged and fought for freedom.

"No! Lemme go!"

"Son, I said sit down!" The bartender shoved the blue-eyed man to the floor roughly and made sure he stayed there. "Probably already losin' quite a few patrons outta fear, I ain't losin' any more good folk 'cause a' wild men and their guns. Sit, and stay sittin', fella. Ya pretty safe here."

The cowboy worried his lip, wishing these men would let him go. He had to get to Arthur, he just had to! He may have been upset with him, but if the Brit ever got hurt, Alfred wouldn't be able to forgive himself regardless of the situation.

"Ya don't understand! I gotta go after 'em!"

"Son, what is so damned important about those two fellas that ya gotta risk ya life for?"

"'Cause that's my best friend... and I think my brother was chasin' 'im..."

* * *

**Look! Look guys! Mattie! :D**

**Adios until next time, folks! **


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